Charlie Fleming: The Untold Story
by Criminal Behavior
Summary: Unknown to the boys, there's someone else on the island. This is the story told by explorer Charlie Fleming, who's been an island resident for over two years. - This was originally an English assignment. OC, Oneshot.


Charlie Fleming: The Untold Story

~A/N~ This was actually originally an essay assignment for my English class. I thought the idea I had was interesting (particularly day 725), so I decided to share it! ^-^ We had to write at least three scenes from the book through the perspective of an onlooker. Enjoy! ~A/N~

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies: this is a fanfiction work and the only aspect of this story that is mine is Charlie.

Day 725

Ten meters from the body, I halted, though not of my own volition. The corpse froze me mid-step, haunting me and chilling my unstable resolve. How could something that was once alive and so full of vigor have such an eerie and profane existence in death?

Lowering my head, I knelt. This was the closest I had ever come to the body in a long time. I knew that my fear of Neville's corpse shamed his memory, which I felt in turn. The fact that I couldn't approach my friend now displayed a humiliating weakness for us both.

Against my wishes, my mind replayed those painfully long moments of that day, though it only took a fraction of a second to end his life.

Each scene skittered in my brain, the images propelling off the walls of my skull: I felt them as if they were physical blows. We fell, ripping through the air. We were ecstatic, free, explorers on a mission of discovery. I deployed my parachute, spun and steadied, saw Neville nearby as I slowly descended. He, however, fell faster beneath me, and I caught his panicked expression briefly here and there as he tried to open his own parachute. I reached for my friend; I cried out in vain. His response was only to plummet faster.

The inevitable happened. His frame met the packed, hard ground with a _thwack_ that I wanted desperately not to have heard. My descent to the earth was sluggish, and I struggled and yelled in midair, telling myself that my friend was still alive. Upon finally reaching the ground, I crawled over to Neville, who lay facedown on the firm dirt. I heaved him onto his side, searching desperately for a sign of life. I balked at what I saw instead, covering my mouth as my stomach was yanked into a painful knot. The impact had shattered his ribcage like nothing more than glass, thrusting a rib through one of his lungs. The opposite end of the bone obscenely stuck out of my friend's side. I stayed by him for a while, rasping unintelligible words of grief and mourning, and then I left.

I tried to return the next day, but once his cadaver came into view, I froze and could walk no further. I tried again every day since and would force myself to walk an inch closer. I was ashamed; I was nothing more than a silly, frightened child.

It has been two years.

Today, I knelt just before the skeleton of my friend, whitewashed by sun and time. I had accomplished what I hadn't been able to so long before. It had been done. I pushed to my full height and walked away.

I would not return.

Day 735

Things have been going quite smoothly. I feel as if I have repaid my debt to my old friend, now that I have visited him and paid my silent dues, wishing him well wherever he is now, if he is indeed anywhere at all.

Everything has become routine. I've regarded this strange island as something of a home for quite some time now. Its exotic features never cease to surprise me, but living here has become quite customary.

Until the other day, that is.

I had been picking fruit near my cave, for I was almost through with the previous week's supply. It was a commonplace task, nothing strange. However, I began to hear what seemed to be a loud roar, muffled somewhat by distance. It had been a long time since I had seen or been in one, but I indubitably remembered the sound of an airplane. My eyes raked the sky, and they eventually fetched the image of the flying vessel. I softened somewhat, recalling the days of civilization that I had once enjoyed the simple pleasures of.

I was jerked back to reality, however, by another sound. The faint roar had escalated into a high whine, and the plane descended downwards towards the island at a skewed angle. It would careen, right itself wobbly, and then tip slightly to either side. Luckily, I judged that it would land—or possibly crash—on the other side of the island, away from my cave and me. I darted through the trees and underbrush quickly, having determined the quickest ways to move through the dense jungle. Halfway to my destination, I felt the world shudder underneath me, nearly sending me sprawling to my knees. The plane had landed. (Or, more accurately, crashed, as I had feared.)

I continued on for a while until the outline of the plane came into view. The nose had been smashed badly and was smoking in parts, and I noticed a couple of small boys milling about near the scene of the crash. I wondered whether I should show myself, but decided against it. Children are loud and obnoxious and they're _always_ sticky… It just wasn't something I was equipped to deal with.

Day 750

Strange things have been going on ever since the night of the crash. That very first night, a fire spread across almost the entire island. Only by some merciful work of nature did the fire peter out before it reached me, for there was a heavy rainstorm that night. This was undoubtedly the work of the youngsters, because the only fire I have ever seen here was the small one I sometimes kept for warmth on cold nights in my cave.

The kids run over the island all the time, making it difficult to collect food without being discovered. This is just an annoyance, however. They have done more haunting things.

I was on one of my weekly fruit runs when I spied something that chilled me to the bone. The head of a pig was mounted on a stick in the middle of the forest, mouth open, small eyes watching me. It looked like a macabre piece of art erected by a savage tribe. I knew who it had been, however; it was the vile little urchins. I knew they were beastly creatures, but this? I didn't even hunt; I could never kill another living thing.

Last night I witnessed a murder. I ventured down to the beach where the boys congregated, hiding in the shade among the creepers. One boy burst out of the bushes near me in a panic, waving his arms as he approached his comrades. Something among them snapped; everybody began rushing about in a mad panic, yelling, surging forward towards the boy who had erupted from the forest beside me. They converged on him, and I noticed with an acute fear that they each wielded a spear. There was shrieking of confusion and pain, and I knew what they were doing to the boy they formed a fortress around. I decided in fright and haste that during their distraction, I would escape and return to the safety of my cave, before these juvenile savages discovered me next.

Day 760

The world had proceeded on oddly and life had been quiet for about the past week. Of course, I spent most of my time holed up in my cave, a refugee from the evident evil that children can be driven to.

There is no escaping my fate, though; nothing good lasts forever. There was another frenzy yesterday. I'm lucky my cave is cleverly hidden and that I extinguished my small fire before the raid began. Peeking out from curtains of vine, I saw kids rushing by me several times, most holding spears, another sprinting blindly and desperately through the brush. After an eternity, I emerged from my hiding place and began to walk around the sandy edge of the island. I found to my relief that the luck of my timing was extremely uncanny; within several minutes, half of the island was on fire yet again! It hadn't traveled to my side of the island, so I was safe from losing the few belongings and food that I had left there.

I turned out towards the sea, and what yawned before me was not the wide blue-green alone. A large boat, pumping smoke rhythmically into the sky, approached the island steadily. Two years and I had never before seen a sign of rescue cross my path. I had flourished on my own, and made many discoveries on my trip, but I thought wistfully, _It is time to go home. _

The ship slid ashore gracefully, and a uniformed naval officer welcomed me aboard. I walked around the deck, feeling society surround me. Lost in relieved, calm thought, when I looked down I didn't expect to see the small, fair-haired boy who stood next to me. He looked at my what must have been scruffy jungle-like appearance and asked after a moment, "Who are _you_?"

I smiled simply. "No one."


End file.
